Restraint
by sendintheclowns
Summary: The brothers didn’t succumb to the demonic plague in Croatoan but did they really make it out of that situation unscathed? This is a SFTCOLARS round three exchange fic episode tag for CroatoanHunted.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: The brothers didn't succumb to the demonic plague in Croatoan but did they really make it out of that situation unscathed? This is a SFTCOL(AR)S round three exchange fic episode tag for Croatoan/Hunted.

A/N: This fic is for Faye Dartmouth, mentor and friend. Faye provided a marvelous prompt so I hope this effort doesn't disappoint.

Disclaimer: Nothing about the world of Supernatural belongs to me. That honor belongs to Eric Kripke.

-----

Restraint

Sam dragged himself up the cracked sidewalk, side stepping the man eating weeds thriving amidst the cement on his way toward the motel room.

He paused a moment to collect himself. His head was achy and his stomach burned. All's he really wanted to do was flop down on the bed and take a nap. But if he did that, he'd have to answer to his older, protective brother.

Lately it seemed he couldn't go anywhere or do anything without Dean signing off on it. Going to the library without him had practically taken an act of congress. He loved his brother, would do anything for him, but being cooped up in a library with him was definitely not the way he wanted to spend his day.

And now he just wanted some sleep but if he were to lie down in the middle of the day there would be hell to pay. He'd probably have to take a blood oath swearing that he wasn't sick.

But he felt like crap. He passed a hand across his forehead and swiped moisture away. Maybe he was coming down with something. He didn't want to give in to it though; the constant watching and monitoring was starting to get on his nerves. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate everything his brother did for him but he was beginning to feel claustrophobic from the near smothering. The hassle of popping some pain reliever and getting some shuteye just wasn't worth it.

Or maybe he was making himself sick, dwelling on what his dad had instructed Dean to do before he died. He didn't think he was perfect, not by a long shot, but why would his dad think he could be turned? John Winchester had been a brilliant man when it came to demons, if not raising his sons, so if his dad had been worried he couldn't afford to ignore it. Especially because Dean's well being depended upon it. He didn't want to but maybe he'd be better off splitting up from Dean.

He was sick of things happening _to _him. The Yellow Eyed Demon, losing his mom and Jess...he didn't want to be a victim anymore. And he didn't want to drag Dean down with him. He wanted to go on the offensive and be proactive for once but he didn't have enough facts to make a decision. For now he was stuck doing nothing. It was a shitty situation all around.

His heart hammered in his chest when Dean practically bowled him off his feet as he swiped the keycard and entered the room. He hadn't been expecting an attack the instant he walked in the door and wondered what was on Dean's mind. His brother had that happy, can't wait to kill something look about him.

If his brother's expression was anything to go by, rest just wasn't in the cards for him today.

-----

Dean had been perched on the edge of the lumpy motel bed, flipping through the stultifying options that constituted daytime TV, waiting for Sam to return from yet another research session at the Peoria Public Library. As soon as he heard the keycard scrape in the lock he was on his feet. "Dude, time to hit the road. Bobby has a job for us up north."

Sam blinked at Dean in confusion after seeing their bags neatly stacked up next to the far bed, waiting to be taken out to the Impala. He wasn't sure if the confusion was due to the fact that he had packed up all of their stuff or that the bags were neatly stacked. "I thought I'd get a jump on things. I already checked us out so let's roll."

Dean waited impatiently for Sam's response. He wasn't sure what his brother's reaction would be since he was pretty tied up in knots over Ava's disappearance. But they'd stayed here in Peoria, diligently chasing down every lead and it had gotten them nowhere.

Dean had some arguments lined up in case Sammy balked because he wasn't going to take no for an answer. He was sick of watching Sam wear himself down, spinning his wheels, all for this Ava chick. Yeah, she'd saved his brother from Gordon's trap with her vision but with a demon involved in her disappearance he didn't think Sam should be hanging around Peoria. He didn't want a big demonic bulls-eye painted on his little brother's back and he wanted to put some miles between Sam and anything with yellow eyes that smelled of sulfur.

Sam's shoulders drooped for a moment before he nodded slightly. "Yeah, okay. Where are we headed?"

Dean fought to keep a smile from spreading across his face as he scooped up two bags and headed out the door. He felt like doing a victory dance but he had an image to maintain. He settled for trying to herd his brother out the door. "Come on, I'll tell you about it in the car. We need to make tracks."

He couldn't explain it, not even to himself, but he was itching to get away from this place. He'd feel much better once he had Sam safely tucked away. Although tucking a 6'4" brother away wasn't going to be easy. Despite his apparent exhaustion, Sam kept fighting him about falling off the grid for a while. He wanted to keep pursuing any and all information on both Ava and John Winchester's cryptic last words.

He looked at Sam, standing in the motel doorway, and noticed how fatigued his brother looked these days. And make no mistake about it, Sam looked rough. There were dark smudges beneath Sam's eyes and his face was both pale and noticeably thinner. The results of insomnia, nightmares and lack of appetite.

Dean let out the pent up breath he hadn't even realized he was holding when his brother plunked down the remaining bags in the back seat. He didn't say anything but settled himself in the passenger seat and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean ignored the look as he merged into the busy city traffic. He almost wished he had a lead on Ava since that would relieve some of Sam's stress. There was, however, a distraction in the form of a job five or so hours to the north in Wisconsin and it didn't appear to have any demonic connections. It did involve co-eds and he sure as hell thought the brothers deserved a break after the last month.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam reached out and snapped the radio off. He rubbed a tired looking eye before clearing his throat. "What, are you waiting for Christmas? Come on, already."

Dean took his eyes off the road for a moment to get a good look at his brother. Dean didn't want to dwell on all of the reasons Sam was stressed out right now but he knew he'd been right to get Sam away from Peoria. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse or something. "You did everything you could to find Ava but there was nothing new to follow up on. There's a gig in LaCrosse, Wisconsin. It shouldn't take long and we'd be doing Bobby a favor."

To his amazement, Sam nodded his head before sinking lower in the passenger seat. He turned his head away from Dean, and closed his eyes.

Dean had effectively been dismissed. He couldn't ever remember his brother not plying him with questions about a job. In fact, once a new hunt was on the horizon he usually couldn't get Sam to shut up. His brother wanted to search this and check that and the details and minutia were never ending. And boring. But that's what Sam did.

Except this time.

Dean throttled back the urge to shake Sam and make him spill what was going on with him. Maybe his brother was just tired. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

Taking the cue to be quiet, but definitely not happy about it, Dean left the music off and left his brother alone. If he could be patient a little longer, he knew Sam would eventually tell him what was on his mind. He always did.

-----

Seeing as Sam had either slept or stared out the passenger window for the whole trip, Dean had found himself with lots of time on his hands. Time spent thinking.

When they'd first arrived in Peoria, they'd been united in an effort to find Ava, going about their business as usual. Sam hadn't mentioned Dean not disclosing their father's last orders and Dean hadn't brought up Sam's disappearing act. But with each passing day without a lead, Sam had withdrawn from Dean.

It was subtle, really. But from the way his attention drifted when Dean was talking to him to the way he worked on his research to the exclusion of everything else, Sam was pulling away.

It was reminiscent of the way Sam had acted before he'd had the big blow up with their dad and left for Stanford. Sure, Dean had known for months what Sam's intentions were but up until he left him behind, he'd thought his brother would change his mind and stay.

And now there was something else stressing out the brothers. The great John Winchester's final words.

It was bad enough they implied Sam might choose the dark side and Dean might have to put him down. Now he was beginning to wonder if it was more than that. Maybe Sam really had a bone to pick with Dean over his not telling him in the first place. Hell, Sam had asked him point blank if their dad had said anything to him and he'd lied and said no.

Back in Oregon, he'd told Sam their dad had made him promise not to tell him and since he had a long history of following his dad's orders he thought Sam would accept it. But that's not the only reason he'd kept quiet.

Deep down he'd somehow been afraid Sam would leave him and that, more than anything, had prevented him from saying anything to his brother.

After all, if Sam thought he was protecting Dean he'd take off in a heartbeat. And that was something Dean couldn't let happen. Sam was the only family he had left and family was everything to him.

He'd be lost without his little brother.

So here he was, with a sulking brother who may or may not trust him. And in their line of work, trust was everything.

Dean rubbed a hand wearily across the side of his face. It was coming up on hour five of mind numbing silence when Dean spotted the sign for LaCrosse, Wisconsin. Their next case was waiting for them. That is assuming he could get his brother to talk to him. He didn't deny that there were some issues to work out, but it was hard to travel with someone when they were ignoring you.

Reaching his arm out, he jostled Sam in the side with his elbow. "So, what do you think? You want to get a bite to eat or find a motel first?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam shift in his seat and rub the side of his head. "I'm not really hungry but suit yourself." The voice was subdued and quiet.

Something snapped inside of Dean. He didn't need this aggravation. Sam had told him on more than one occasion that he wanted to be fully involved in making decisions and here he was acting all disinterested.

His frustration and worry bubbled over and Dean couldn't stop himself from banging his hand on the steering wheel. "Damn it, Sam, if you're pissed off at me, would you just say something instead of giving me the silent treatment?"

Sam's eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. "Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"

Dean, spotting a sign for motels and restaurants, exited the highway. Stopped at a light, he looked Sam full in the face. He didn't like what he saw.

Sam's face was even more pale than before. The bruises beneath his eyes even more pronounced. Lines bracketed the side of his mouth and his lips were turned down in a perpetual scowl. The kid looked absolutely exhausted. Like he was sick or something. He decided finding a room was priority.

Money, or lack of, was always a concern so Dean found the cheapest motel on that strip of road. He went in and registered while Sam appeared to doze in the car. Although maybe he was just ignoring Dean and thought if he closed his eyes he would take the hint. Well, he was willing to let things slide for a while but if Sam didn't get some color in his cheeks soon he was going to drag his ass to a doctor.

Dean backed the Impala into a parking space two doors down from their room. He wanted to keep the Impala within easy view but if someone was looking for them, he didn't want to tip their hand and show exactly where to find them. He was a bit wary after the whole Gordon debacle.

Grabbing a duffel bag, Dean moved toward the door and unlocked it. He didn't hear Sam behind him and turned to find his brother still seated in the car, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he showed any concern he knew Sam would get his panties in a twist so he pretended not to notice. "Yo, Sammy, I know you love the wheels and all, but we're here."

He watched as Sam's frown became more pronounced before he sluggishly hefted himself out of the car. Snagging a bag he slowly made his way into the room without comment.

Was Sam suffering from PMS or was he sick? Dean didn't know but it was starting to wear on him. When he'd thought Sam had contracted the virus in Oregon, he'd resigned himself to…well, it wasn't going to be a good time. He didn't want to dredge up those feelings again so he hoped Sam was just in a mood. That was something he could handle without falling apart.

-----

Sam threw his bag on the floor before gracelessly plopping on one of the twin beds. He stared at the mud brown ceiling. It matched the spotted brown shag carpet and the threadbare brown and gold striped bedspreads. Disgusting.

It matched his mood. He was disgusted with Dean for not having told him the truth, disgusted with his dad for putting Dean in a position of having to watch out for Sam, again, as well as being so damned cryptic about Sam's future, and mostly disgusted with himself because he was a fuck up and a burden and to make matters worse, he was pretty certain he was sick. .

He had absolutely no energy. His head ached so much he couldn't concentrate on anything. He'd gone through what seemed like a whole bottle of pain reliever in the last couple of days and now his stomach was burning. Again.

He absently munched the last of the vanilla flavored Rolaids soft chews. It took five of them to quell the acid in the pit of his stomach. Freakin' fantastic. He felt like a walking advertisement for over-the-counter drugs.

He tried to stretch out the kinks in his protesting body while Dean pretended to ignore him.

He hated this. He wanted to erase the last few years, call a do over. Jess should still be alive and happy. Dean should be with John Winchester instead of with him, a pale copy of the original. Hell, Ava should be putting the finishing touches on her wedding instead of missing. Life should be normal.

But life was anything but and the sooner he quit feeling sorry for himself, the sooner he could move on.

Sam forced himself to relax and was on the verge of drifting off to sleep when he felt something nudge the leg that was draped over the edge of the bed. His eyes snapped open and he saw Dean hovering.

Dean was all twitchy and fidgety, shifting his weight from one foot to another. "Dude, you know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Dean was clearly uncomfortable and Sam should have just ignored him but he was slowly suffocating under the unwanted attention. Levering himself up on his elbows, he glared at his brother. "Are you channeling Oprah now?"

Dean leaned over and punched him on the thigh. Hard. That would leave a mark. "You're Mr. Emote! You're always bleeding your feelings out all over the place. I just want you to get it off your chest already."

Sam was baffled and angry.

First off, Dean never wanted to talk about feelings. He'd throw himself out of a moving car to escape that kind of conversation.

Secondly, he had nothing except a bit of tightness that he wanted to get off his chest and he resented Dean for making him sound like such a whiny bitch. After all, he hadn't said a word in complaint.

The room shifted around as he sat up. He must have moved too abruptly otherwise he couldn't explain the dark spots invading his vision. He swayed forward and Dean was there to steady him. He really felt like crap.

He normally would have been grateful that Dean had saved him from spilling onto the dirty, stained floor but instead he found himself perilously close to tears. He blinked them back, hoping Dean wouldn't notice. He couldn't do anything right, including sitting up, without causing a problem. He was a fucking mess.

Winchesters rarely, if ever, cried. They'd been raised from the cradle to never shed a tear. Tears were a serious flaw. A sign of weakness and failure.

Flaws, weakness and failure. The trifecta of traits Sam had worked hard to overcome his whole life. Now they seemed to be charging, headlong, right at him and he couldn't get out of the way.

Dean still had a hand wrapped around Sam's upper arm when he cleared his throat. "Dude, are those tears?" Embarrassment deeply colored the question.

Sam couldn't take any more and pushed Dean away before struggling to his feet. He needed to get out. Get his head together.

Brushing past his brother on the way to the door, he mumbled, "I'll be back in a while. Just need some fresh air."

He put his hand on the door knob and paused while glancing back at his brother. He didn't want to fight with Dean. He didn't even want to go outside anymore. He wanted to apologize for making a scene and lay back down on the bed. Maybe then the room would stop spinning.

Dean glared at him. "Yeah, that's right. Take off. That's what you always do when the going gets tough."

Sam's heart developed another crack with those words. A hurt so deep and intense that he couldn't push it down any longer erupted. Before he could stop himself, his right fist, cast and all, flew out, connecting with the drywall next to the door frame. A dent, plaster pushed inward in the shape of a fist, appeared in the wall and he stared at it dazedly.

He wasn't one to lose control. That was Dean's territory.

He turned away from the concerned face of his brother and found the strength to open the door. He was soon moving out into the twilight.

He had to leave, just for a little while, or else they'd both say, or do, things they couldn't take back.

He wanted to turn around and tell Dean he'd be back but he needed to keep moving. If he stopped, even for a moment, he'd give in to the inertia and sink down to the ground. Surely Dean realized he was coming back since he was leaving all of his stuff in the room.

Sam's face felt frozen in place as he shuffled out onto the sidewalk.

That had to go down as one of the worst arguments ever. Worse than the fight he and Dean had before splitting up in Indiana. Worse even than the night his father had kicked him out of the house and told him to stay gone. Worse because he and Dean hadn't even been fighting about anything concrete.

He'd give them both a chance to chill out and then he'd come back. He'd just find something to occupy his time for an hour or two, come back and apologize, and then things would be okay. At least he hoped they'd be okay.

-----

Dean exhaled a loud breath as he quietly closed the motel room door. "Well, that went well, didn't it?" he said, wanting to hear something other than the silence of the room.

He moved over to the indented area on the wall and touched it lightly, tracing it. He wondered if Sam's cast had cracked as easily as the cheap plaster.

He knew what it felt like to be picked at and put under a microscope. Hell, it's the way he'd felt after his dad died. The cloying concern and never ending questions…he should have known it wouldn't work on Sam because it hadn't gone over well with him. Only in his case Sam's face had taken the brunt of his anger instead of a wall.

Yeah, things were going well – not.

He'd witnessed his dad and brother going at it ever since Sam had turned sixteen but that was the first time his brother had lost his cool with him to that degree in a long, long time. He teased Sam about being all touchy-feely but the truth was that Sam locked down his emotions tighter than anyone when it came to certain things.

And the sudden burst of anger wouldn't be bothering him so much if it wasn't coming on the heels of some seriously freaky shit they'd encountered in Oregon. He'd thought Sam had escaped the demonic plague but what if it had just been delayed somehow? He'd watched Sam steadily decline for a couple of weeks and now this.

No, that couldn't be it. He'd just pushed his brother too far, nagged too much. He'd known Sam was wound tightly since the Ava thing.

After pacing around the room he determined to wait it out. If he went looking for Sammy he might screw things up worse so he'd just give his brother a chance to simmer down and they'd take it from there.

Grabbing the remote, Dean snapped on the TV and started flipping through the channels, looking for something, anything, to distract him for a while. He'd feel a lot better about things if Sam wasn't so pale and angry when he'd left. But he resigned himself to waiting as he rotated through the channels again.

-----

Sam didn't want to go to a bar but it was either that or a restaurant since that's all he could see in the general vicinity. His stomach, right up under his ribcage, hurt so badly he was having a hard time not hunching forward. Maybe some brandy would help. It was known to calm upset stomachs. Or if it didn't calm it, maybe it would dull the pain.

He made his way into the nearest place, Bodega Beerpub, and pushed through what seemed to be a group of college aged kids before sitting at a barstool. At least he should blend in here.

A tall, buff, blond guy stood behind the bar, engrossed in a conversation with a pack of guys who all looked like they'd rolled off the same assembly line – blond, bland and bulging with muscles. They glared in unison at Sam until the bartender broke away to take his order.

Sam ordered his brandy and as soon as it was in hand, he left the bar for a table. He wasn't here to cause trouble and he sensed that the bruisers at the end of the bar wanted some action.

He found a table in the back corner and was content to relax while feeling the burn of the brandy and coke. Brandy. He idly remembered Wisconsin being touted as number one in brandy consumption per capita. He made a note to go easy on the hard stuff; he didn't want to end up like the blond barbarians at the bar.

His solitude was interrupted when someone bumped his table. "Excuse me. Do you mind if I sit here for a moment?"

Sam really didn't want to talk to anyone but he found himself captivated by the smoky female voice. He gestured to the other chair at his table and soon made the acquaintance of Brandy (of course) who was blond and built but that was where the similarity to the guys at the bar ended; she didn't glare at him and she smelled good.

She glanced toward the bar and then back at Sam. "You're not from around here, are you?"

A self effacing laugh was startled from his lips. He might be tall and reasonably built but he most definitely didn't fit the same mold as the majority of the guys in the bar. "No, just passing through."

She flipped her long, straight hair over a shoulder and leaned in closer to Sam. Batting her long eyelashes, she flirted in a husky voice. "You've got the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen on a guy."

Great. Just what he needed. An amorous local. Too bad Dean wasn't here. He thrived on this kind of shit.

Dean. He'd forgotten for half a minute the reason he was hanging out in a bar.

He tried to focus on what Brandy was saying but she'd lost him. Before he could follow her conversation, she'd jumped to her feet and knocked both of their drinks over. For such a beautiful girl, she was definitely lacking in grace. Or maybe she was already drunk.

He wiped the ice cubes off his thighs and crinkled his nose. Now he smelled like alcohol. Brandy mumbled something about getting more drinks and shimmied her way to the bar before Sam knew what hit him.

Oh well. He wanted to kill a little more time before he slunk back to the motel, tail tucked between his legs. He didn't have a problem with apologizing because he'd been the one to over react but he wasn't eager to go another round and once Dean got something into his head, he was like a pit bull, unwilling to let it go.

He propped his chin on his hand and waited to see if Brandy would reappear with his drink or if she'd latch on to someone else. She pushed away from the bar and headed his way, a drink in each hand. The blond behemoths surrounding the bartender followed her shapely rear as she moved away from them. She scooted through the thickening crowd with the ease of someone who had lots of practice at it and rejoined Sam.

Setting another drink in front of Sam she settled into the chair again. "Here you go, handsome. Drink up."

He cautiously took a sip, mindful of the pain reigniting in the pit of his stomach. He didn't feel like fending off Brandy's advances so he tried a different tact. "So are you a student here?"

Brandy took a sip of her own drink and nodded her head yes. This was like pulling teeth but he tried again. "What's your major?"

She tilted her head coquettishly and replied, "You'll never believe me."

He wasn't in the mood to play 20 Questions but restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "Okay, fine. Pre law?"

He'd said the first thing that popped into his mind and was unprepared when Brandy reached out and slugged him in the arm with enough force to rock him in his chair. "Get out! How did you know?"

The girl sure packed a punch. It's a good thing he hadn't been taking a sip of his drink or he'd be wearing it. Again. "It was just a lucky guess. My major was pre law."

She was hanging on his every word now. He'd be lying if he didn't admit it gave his ego a little boost. He wasn't accustomed to non demonic girls coming on to him lately.

She seemed less drunk and more animated as she warmed to the topic. "Where do you go to school?"

Sam took a huge swallow of his drink to clear his throat. He wasn't sure if he should answer this truthfully but he was sick of the cons and the games and the lies. For just a little while he wanted to play it straight. "I went to Stanford."

Her beautiful, blue eyes widened in surprise. "Holy shit. Brains and beauty. A potent combination. Let's drink to that."

They both drained their drinks while Brandy rhapsodized about graduating and going to law school. Her voice began cutting in and out and he shook his head to clear it. Something wasn't right.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt before wiping an unsteady hand across his brow. The room was swirling around him but he'd only had two drinks. Well actually one since Brandy had knocked his first one over.

He held his arms out in front of his body and studied them; his finger tips were tingly and numb.

Ears ringing, he looked up at Brandy in time to see a mass of dark bodies swarming toward him. His adrenaline immediately kick-started.

Their table was roughly bumped and Sam jumped to his feet, ready to defend against the enemy. He blinked his eyes and narrowed them in an effort to bring the world into focus. Brandy screamed as a fist flew toward his face. The table was upended as Sam threw himself into the fray.

He was under attack and the only option at his disposal was to fight his way free.

He tugged an errant arm and sent someone spinning through the air. His fist met solid flesh as he dispatched another body.

He lost count of the opponents he faced. His head ached and he was dizzy but he had to fight on. Dean would kill him if something happened to him.

The pushing, shoving, jabbing and screaming rose to a crescendo around him. Something caught him behind his left ear and he went down. Sharp pain flared as his vision faded. He'd lost.

TBC

-----

A/N 2: I didn't have an official beta on this story but I would be remiss if I didn't thank two very special people, CZ and Pointofview, who helped me figure out some of the more intricate plot points of this fic.

And Faye, day one is over and done with so the rest of the week should be a snap!


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: The brothers didn't succumb to the demonic plague in Croatoan but did they really make it out of that situation unscathed? This is a SFTCOL(AR)S round three exchange fic episode tag set Post-Croatoan/Hunted.

A/N: All other notes and disclaimers in part one. I'll see you on the other end of the story (that is if you deem it worthy).

-----

Restraint

Dean paced back and forth, occasionally stopping to glare at the door.

He was as angry with himself as much he was with his brother. He always had patience in abundance when it came to Sam but this time it had abandoned him.

He blamed it on their dad's death and the circumstances surrounding it. It had him completely off balance.

He wouldn't admit it but he'd even gone so far as to do some research of his own on the internet and if any of the new age crap was to be believed, he was working his way through the five stages of grief. So far he'd made it through shock/denial and inward anger and was now teetering on outward anger. Sam could certainly testify to it.

Not that he was buying into the whole grief thing. It was just another excuse and Winchesters didn't believe in excuses.

Dean lunged for the cell phone resting on the bed as it started to play the opening beats of Funkytown by Lipps Inc.

Sam thought the ring tone was funny. Dean didn't want disco blaring out of his phone, code word for trouble or not, and had threatened to damage Sam if his brother didn't replace it. He could have changed it himself -- if he could build an EMF from scratch he could certainly figure out how to download a ring tone -- but it amused his brother and although he carped about it, he left it alone. For Sam.

The same Sam who had taken a swing at the wall and disappeared over three hours ago.

He checked the caller ID and was disappointed that it wasn't Sammy. "Yeah?"

A woman, sounding slightly out of breath, cleared her voice. "Excuse me, who am I speaking to?"

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it before answering. "Listen, sweetheart, you're the one calling me, remember? Who the hell is this?"

A long suffering sigh was heard over the line. "This is a nurse at Gundersen Lutheran ER calling. We found your number on the cell phone of a Brian Wilson who was brought in here tonight. We're trying to find a relative and this number was listed under ICE."

Dean's head was spinning. Sam was Brian Wilson to his Mike Love of Beach Boys fame on their current fake ID's.

This was bad. The blood was roaring in his ears. "This is Brian's cousin, Mike. What's wrong?"

Silence for a moment. "I really can't get into it over the phone. Can you come down to the ER?"

Dean wanted to strangle the faceless wench. What the hell was wrong with his brother? "Can you at least tell me if he's okay?"

A loud crash followed by a yell for help was heard in the background. "He's definitely holding his own. I need to go now. Please ask for Sherry when you arrive."

The call was quickly terminated by the nurse.

Dean pocketed the cell phone and scooped up his wallet and keys from the table before rushing for the door. They'd been in LaCrosse for less than four hours and already Sam was in deep shit.

-----

Sam didn't understand what was going on. He'd woken up to find his hands secured behind his back and his head spinning.

His mind raced as he tried to figure out who or what had gotten the drop on him. Non corporeal entities didn't waste their energy on tying up their victims and the rest of the supernatural pantheon either didn't have the finesse (zombie, wendigo, werewolf) or had enough strength or power to forego bonds (vampire, shtriga, trickster). Although the shapeshifter had tied him up. And so had the female demon, Meg.

Sam was at a loss. He was surrounded by voices babbling and poking at him but he couldn't understand what they wanted him to do. He thought about curling in on himself and waiting for Dean.

But maybe they had Dean, too. Maybe he was hurt and needed Sam's help.

Sam's legs kicked out at the nearest body and he felt satisfaction at having landed a blow. "Dean!"

There was no answer. He wanted to panic but that wouldn't help his brother.

He waited a moment and when another blurry shape moved in from the right flank, he kicked out again. Another body went down.

He felt like he was finding his rhythm, in the zone, but he couldn't get too cocky. What was that term? Hubris. Pride before the fall. He didn't want to be accused of that.

Before he could plan out his next move or make sense of the situation, he felt a vicious stab in his upper left arm.

Things got muzzier and rotated around.

He tried to pull himself loose but he was stuck.

It had to be demons. It always came back to demons.

Thrashing his head from side to side, he muttered, "I'll kill you all. And if I can't, I'll kill myself first. You're not going to take me alive."

Tired from his struggles and whatever had been injected into his system, his head tilted forward and he couldn't find the strength to move it.

Dean needed him and he'd failed him. Again.

-----

Dean put his head down on the steering wheel for a moment. He needed to slow his breathing and pull himself together. He wouldn't be any good to Sam if he flipped out in the parking lot.

He wanted to run into the ER and demand answers but he had to play it cool. He slowly and deliberately exited and locked the Impala before heading indoors.

Plastering a toothy and insincere smile on his face he approached the front desk. "Excuse, I'm supposed to ask for Sherry. My name is Mike. Is she available?"

The smile was wasted when the harried clerk didn't even look up. "Have a seat. I'll let her know you're here."

Dean moved a few paces back but he refused to sit down. He was strung so taught he thought an eyeball would pop out of its socket from the pressure building inside of him.

A short brunette came out of the double doors and paused by the clerk before walking up to Dean. "Are you Mike?" As Dean bobbed his head up and down once in confirmation she grabbed his elbow. "Could you please come with me? We need to get some information from you."

Dean dug his heels in and refused to budge. "Listen, Sherry. I'll give you whatever information you want, but first I want to see Brian."

Sherry released his elbow and stood, arms akimbo, a frown marring her smooth complexion. "The doctor wants to talk to you but I can tell you your cousin is…"

Dean wanted to shake the information out of her. "He's what?!"

Sherry seemed to arrive at some decision, her shoulders relaxing visibly. "He's being held on an emergency detention. He, ah, got a little violent and he's in restraints right now. Let's go find Dr. Kalember and he can explain what's going on."

Dean started to follow Sherry but stopped as her words sunk in. "That doesn't sound like S…Brian! You must be talking about some other guy. A case of mistaken identify."

Sherry looked at Dean with sympathy. "Really tall guy, dark longish hair, nice build?"

Dean nodded and then continued walking. It was a really generic description of his brother yet it fit.

He was escorted into what appeared to be a doctor's lounge. "Dr. Kalember? Brian Wilson's cousin is here."

A man with wire rimmed glasses and graying hair sat at a table, furiously scribbling on a legal pad. He looked more like the mad scientist than any doctor Dean had ever seen with tufts of hair standing up on end.

The doctor raked a hand through his hair before throwing his pen to the table. He looked up and blinked his wide spaced eyes at Dean with confusion.

Sherry tugged impatiently at the dark ringlets held back from her face in a loose ponytail and cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Dr. Kalember. This is Brian Wilson's cousin, Mike. You wanted to talk to him."

Bemusement finally shifted to excitement as the doctor nodded at Dean. He stood up clumsily, knocking his notes off of the table. Dropping to all fours, the doctor scrambled about, picking up the legal pad and pen.

Dean found himself glancing at Sherry with unease. This was the doctor treating Sam? Sherry refused to meet Dean's look which did nothing to dispel his doubts.

He forced himself to walk over to the doctor and offered his hand. He was treated to the limpest, most noodle like handshake he'd ever endured. No vote of confidence there.

Dr. Kalember pulled himself out of his trance and motioned to a chair at the table. "Sit, sit. First off, I want to assure you that we're doing everything we can to help your cousin."

Dean sank into the hard, plastic chair and focused all of his attention on the doctor. He nodded his head in encouragement in the hopes that the distracted doctor would pick up the pace. If he didn't, Dean wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

Glancing at his notes, Dr. Kalember began to speak in a nasal, pedantic tone. "The police brought Mr. Wilson to us on a 51.45 because they suspected his violent outburst at the establishment was due to alcohol. The rapid toxicology screen did not indicate high levels of alcohol and once we completed our initial assessment on Mr. Wilson, it became apparent that he really needed a 51.15. He's quite delusional and not only a danger to others but to himself as well. We're…"

The doctor stopped speaking in mid sentence as he reached down and pulled a pager from his pants pocket. "Excuse me, please. I have an emergency. Sherry, will you please fill this young man in on his cousin's condition? I will return as soon as possible."

With that Dr. Kalember gathered up his notes and practically ran for the door.

Dean waited until the doctor had exited the room before rounding on the nurse. "Are you sure he has a license to practice medicine?"

The words, coming out of Dean's mouth, could easily have been mistaken for sarcasm. But for once Dean was being serious.

Sherry smoothed her ponytail back as she sat down in the chair the doctor had vacated. Licking her lips she nodded her head. "Let me fill you in on Brian's status and then I'll answer any questions you have about the psychiatrist."

Dean's head snapped up at the word 'psychiatrist' but he waited for Sherry to explain what was going on. If he lost it now, he might end up in restraints along with Sam. He began to drum his fingers impatiently on the table top.

Folding her hands on the table in front of her, Sherry launched into an explanation. "When the police brought your cousin in they thought he was drunk. The rapid tox screen didn't show a high blood alcohol content but it did show some abnormalities."

Dean's thinking processes shuddered to a crawl. Abnormalities in Sam's blood...his mind flashed back to the demonic plague in Oregon. Could Sam have been infected after all? The doctor there had claimed Sam's blood was virus free but something was off. He shook his head, willing this explanation to be wrong, and gestured for Sherry to continue.

Sherry rubbed a hand across her cheek before continuing. "Brian became even more violent in the exam room and had to be restrained, both for his protection and the staff's. He knocked several staff to the ground before they could administer a sedative. Based on some of the comments he made it seemed prudent to call in a psychiatrist. Brian is now being held on an Emergency Detention and Dr. Kalember's role is to assess your cousin and make a recommendation at the Probable Cause Hearing."

Dean jumped to his feet and started pacing. This wasn't making sense. "Whoa. Back up. You're committing my brother, what, for observation?"

She cleared her throat again before visibly swallowing. "He's being held for assessment and the court will decide if he should be committed for treatment. Your cousin was talking about demons coming for him and how he'd kill himself before he'd let them turn him. We know alcohol isn't fueling these delusions so we need to figure out what's going on with him. I'll need to take a full history from you since Brian isn't able to answer our questions right now."

Dean rubbed the heels of both hands into his eyes. This was a nightmare. He didn't know if Sam had been infected with a slow acting demonic virus or if he was having some sort of breakdown. Unfortunately, the part about the demons coming for him was true.

He tried to sort through the facts. He knew Sam had been on the decline for weeks now and Dean had witnessed his usually even tempered brother put his hand into the wall. And now he supposedly had taken on a bar and then ER staff in some sort of free for all. It didn't add up.

He impatiently answered Sherry's questions. No, his cousin didn't have a history of mental illness. He was in good physical health. No, he didn't know when his cousin had last had a bowel movement and he wasn't on any medications unless you counted Tylenol and Rolaids.

Sherry gathered up her forms and promised that when she returned he could sit with his cousin as long as Brian remained calm.

Dean folded his arms across the table and let his forehead sink down upon them. Worry throbbed in the pit of his stomach and a tension headache blossomed behind his eyes. He couldn't wait to see Sam. Maybe he would be coherent enough to tell him what was going on.

-----

The saliva fled his mouth as he was escorted into Sam's room. Any hope of getting the truth out of his brother was shattered as he took in the battered form before him.

A sheet was pulled up to his chest, limbs hidden beneath it. The face, tilted away from the doorway, was a ghastly pale shade with bruises and red spots dotting the jaw line. The bottom lip was split open and weeping while the eye visible from his vantage point was mottled with deep purple.

Rage surged through Dean. Someone had really done a number on his brother and he itched to teach them a lesson. But first he needed to take care of Sam.

Sherry pulled back the sheet to reveal one slim wrist encased in leather, strapped down to his side. Restraints.

She expertly checked the straps for fit on the uninjured wrist before moving over and doing the same for the straps holding his cast down. She moved on to do the same to his ankles, also ruthlessly trussed to prevent movement. She looked up and saw Dean observing her. "I know it seems a bit extreme but your cousin was out of control. This is for his protection as much as for ours."

Dean didn't want to believe it but he could tell by the state Sam was in that something heavy had gone down.

He pulled a chair shakily up to Sam's bed and sat quietly as soon as Sherry left the room. This is not how he'd envisioned this trip. His brother had needed to relax badly; instead he was hog tied to a bed in a hospital on the fast track to a mental institution. Or worse, infected with some demonic virus.

He stared down at the floor for a moment, feeling a little overwhelmed. The misunderstanding he and Sam had weighed on his mind. He'd known something was wrong with Sam but had lost his patience in the face of his brother's reticence. And he certainly hadn't expected Sam's explosive reaction to his prodding. Somehow the brothers had fallen out of sync. Leaning forward he touched Sam's shoulder tentatively. "Sammy, you in there?"

He was shocked when Sam's head rolled toward his voice and bleary eyes blinked up at him through a tangle of brown hair. Squinting, his brother replied in a groggy voice. "Dean, that you? What happened?"

Dean's whole body sagged with relief as he lightly rubbed Sam's shoulder before withdrawing his hand. Sam sounded coherent. Well, sort of coherent. He recognized Dean and that was all important in his book. "Yeah, that's the billion dollar question. Apparently you decided to cut loose on Cliff and Norm before ending up here in the hospital. Is that ringing any bells for you?"

Confusion reigned as Sam frowned and shook his head no. He tried to lift a hand and his dazed eyes turned to Dean. "Dean?"

Sam's voice had that lost, little boy quality that always brought out his protectiveness. Not that it was needed when it came to Sam; he'd spent his whole life looking out for his brother.

Sam's frown turned to anger as he pulled on all of his limbs in an attempt to break free. "Just simmer down, Sam. They're not going to turn you loose if you act up like this."

Sam stared long and hard at Dean while straining against his bonds. He was working himself into a lather.

Dean had to keep the situation from escalating. He stood up and pinned Sam down by the shoulders. "Sam, snap out of it!"

His brother finally relaxed back against the pillows, eyelashes brushing his cheeks. When Sam's eyes opened again, the pupils were fully dilated, all black but for a hint of grayish green on the outermost ring. Sam's attention was focused somewhere in the distance.

Before Dean could reason out what was happening, his brother's eyes rolled back into his head and tremors cascaded through his body.

Dean sprinted out into the hall. Sherry was standing behind a counter and was writing something in a chart. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around the counter. "Help him!"

She ran into Sam's room, took in the scene before her, and stuck her head out the door. "Call a code!"

Sherry quickly undid the restraints holding Sam down. His neck bulged as his body arched backward. After twenty seconds Sam's muscles began to violently contract and relax, jerking him around like a marionette on a string.

Sam's jaws were clenched shut and his face had taken on a dusky, blue color.

A cart and assorted personnel piled into the room, pressing Dean against the wall. He couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it.

After what seemed like forever but in reality had only been a couple of minutes, the rigidity left Sam's body and he drooped across the bed. Competent hands deftly turned his limp brother on his side so he was facing Dean. The blue tinge was fading from his lips. He looked as though he were merely deep asleep instead of recovering from convulsions.

Sam's bed was pushed out the door with the words EEG ringing in his ears. The crisis seemed to have passed, leaving Dean shaken in its wake. At the moment a seizure seemed every bit as malevolent as a demonic virus.

-----

Dean was shown to a private waiting area and found himself stalking back and forth like a caged animal. Sam had been out of his sight for over an hour and he was anxious.

He sank down on a couch and leaned over, bowing his head and clasping his hands loosely in his lap. He was at the end of his rope. Fatigue warred with the need to watch over his brother.

He was so exhausted he didn't hear the footfalls approach him. A soft feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. "Excuse me, Mike? This is Dr. Preston."

Sherry had returned and with her was a tall, striking, silver haired man. Dean found his hand pumped up and down forcefully as he climbed to his feet.

The man tugged on his goatee before gently urging Dean to sit back down. "We've identified the cause of Brian's seizure and his violent outburst."

Dean sagged back against the cushions, all of his attention focused on the man who apparently held the answers to Sam's condition.

Dr. Preston pulled up a chair and sat next to Dean. "We got the results of his blood tests back and it looks like your cousin overdosed on a stimulant."

Of all the things Dean had been expecting to hear, that was the last one. His much admired wit abandoned him as he struggled to follow what the doctor was telling him. "Huh?"

The doctor shook his head in sympathy. "That's right. We found large traces of Adderall, a medication used to treat Attention Deficit Disorder, in Brian's blood. Lots of kids use it for performance enhancement on tests and studying but it can also act like a regular Amphetamine. Do you know if Brian has used it before?"

Words failed Dean for a moment but then his brain fired back up. "He doesn't touch drugs. There's no way he did that to himself."

The doctor looked skeptical. "Okay, maybe someone slipped it to him at the bar. In any case, the Adderall coupled with all of the antacid in his system created quite a chemical cocktail. Your cousin must be very sensitive to medications in order to suffer from such an adverse reaction."

That was Sam. Apparently sensitive in all things.

So Sam wasn't suffering the effects of some virus. He could have kissed the doctor but settled for another hand shake. "When can I take him home?"

-----

Dean reached his arms overhead and tried to work some of the kinks out of his neck and back. It was one thing to relax in the driver's seat of the Impala for hours on end and another to be confined to these obnoxious pieces of plastic that the hospital passed off as chairs.

But despite his mild discomfort, things were looking up. He'd arrived at the ER twenty-four hours ago in near panic, thinking Sam had either succumbed to some other worldly infection or he'd lost his marbles. Thankfully neither of those scenarios had been correct.

After several hours of continuous monitoring, the staff had deemed Sam safe from further seizures as the drug finally worked its way out of his system. Those damned antacids Sam had sucked down like candy had caused retention and absorption problems, wreaking havoc on his brother's fragile system.

Antacids. That had been an eye opener. The staff had whisked his brother away a short while ago to perform some nasty procedure which involved sticking a flexible camera down his throat and peering around his insides.

Here he'd thought Sam was just blessed with a dour disposition and come to find out he had an ulcer. The cause was some non-demonic bacteria which sounded like heliocopter pie to him, coupled with stress. Sure, stress wouldn't cause an ulcer but it sure as hell didn't help matters. And Sam had suffered in spades this last year. At least if you counted your girlfriend and dad dying on you as well as dealing with crazed hunters and obsessed demons.

But ulcers could be treated. An antibiotic, a heavy duty antacid and some rest would do the trick.

Sam looked wrecked but the doctor had assured him that later in the morning, barring complications, his cousin would be released. They had already dismissed the Emergency Detention.

He'd thought about bundling Sam up and making a run for it but he was loath to disturb him. He was finally resting comfortably, sans restraints.

Sam stirred and flipped over on to his other side, so that he now faced away from where Dean was sitting.

Dean didn't care for that arrangement. He had news for Sam – it would be a long, long time before he'd let his brother out of his sight. He dragged the chair over to the other side of the bed so he could watch his brother breathe.

-----

Dean helped his brother into the new motel room. They were now using different IDs due to health insurance scam considerations so a change of venue had seemed in order. He had quietly checked out of the old place, fetched Sam from the hospital, and settled him in a different motel room down the street. It seemed remarkably similar to the one they'd just vacated – minus the dent in the wall.

The staff at the hospital had warned him that it would take "Brian" a while to bounce back but he hadn't really believed them…until now. He could tell his normally resilient brother needed to rest when he observed him wavering in front of the bathroom mirror, mouth full of toothpaste and toothbrush in hand, with his eyes closed. The phrase 'dead on his feet' sprang to mind but he quickly shook it off. After witnessing the seizure he didn't want the word 'dead' applied to his brother in any shape, way or form.

He put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Come on Sammy. Time to rinse and then hit the sack."

Sam didn't argue. He cracked his bleary, bloodshot eyes open and complied with the suggestion to rinse before allowing Dean to guide him out of the bathroom and settle him in bed.

His brother moved restlessly on the bed for a couple of minutes before drifting off to sleep. Dean sat heavily on the other bed and just watched, mesmerized, as his chest moved up and down in a steady, slow rhythm.

Sam was sprawled on his back and Dean, remembering what the nurses had said about seizures and choking hazards, carefully turned Sam on his side.

Sam muttered something unintelligible and batted a hand at Dean but didn't rouse any further. Dean returned to his bed and took up his vigil again. Nothing was going to happen to Sam. Not on his watch.

-----

Sam slid in and out of sleep for the next forty-eight hours.

He kept his eyes closed and listened to the familiar noises around him. His thoughts drifted as he struggled to become fully alert. He could hear Dean softly rustling somewhere to his left. His brother had barely left his side since he'd picked him up from the hospital.

This fact only managed to increase his guilt; everything that had happened, from the ulcer to being drugged in the bar, was his own fault. It had all been avoidable. He'd turned himself into the victim this time around.

He'd been so oblivious he hadn't even realized how much his stomach was affecting him. It had kind of snuck up on him but looking back he realized he'd been making poor decisions for at least a month now which coincided with his symptoms.

He was startled out of his thoughts when hands gently but firmly turned him on his side.

His eyes flew open and met the surprised face of Dean. "Dude, what are you doing?" he asked.

His brother grinned sheepishly before shrugging his shoulders. "Sorry. I thought you were still asleep."

Sam struggled to find the logic in that statement but it eluded him. "So you turn me like a rotisserie chicken when you think I'm sleeping?"

Dean repeated the Gallic shrug again. "It's…they said…I…oh, forget it."

Sam was perplexed but he let Dean's baffling behavior go for the moment as he took a good, hard look at him. He had dark circles under his eyes and his complexion looked sallow. "Are you okay?"

His brother snorted. "Am I okay? I'm not the one who almost got thrown into the loony bin. And let's not forget the hole in your stomach. So yeah, in comparison I'd say I'm doing just ducky."

He wrinkled his nose in aggravation. Everything was one, big joke with Dean. At least on the outside. But inside? Who knew. Dean played things close to the vest.

Dean, all smooth subtly, changed the topic before he could quiz him further. "Are you ready for some food?"

Before Sam could answer, his stomach growled plaintively.

Dean laughed the first genuine laugh he'd heard in what seemed like months. "I'll take that as a yes. Will you be alright here by yourself?"

He wanted to say something smart assed about his brother's hovering but his heart wasn't in it. Hanging around, watching Sam sleep, must be boring his brother out of his mind yet he hadn't complained. Instead of a snappy quip, he settled for shaking his head.

Dean looked at him searchingly before grabbing up his wallet and keys. "Get some rest."

Sam's eyes drooped despite the fact that he didn't want to rest. Remembering Dean's odd behavior when it came to Sam sleeping on his back, he scrunched the pillow before turning on his side. He didn't want to cause his brother any more grief.

-----

A hand shook his shoulder gently. "Sammy."

His eyes snapped open and he glanced at the clock. Dean had been gone for over an hour but he'd returned with something that smelled good. Cheeseburgers. And fries.

By the time he'd levered himself into a sitting position, Dean was pulling items out of a brown paper bag and setting them on the table in the corner of the room. "Soup's on."

Not soup, cheeseburgers. As he pulled up a chair, he realized Dean hadn't been kidding. A Styrofoam container with chicken noodle soup was set out before him. He watched as Dean fished a burger and fries out of the bag and set them across the table. Away from Sam.

Sam looked down at the soup and then at the burger with longing. There was a brief pang in the apex of his stomach, a reminder of his healing ulcer. He regretfully dug into his soup, mourning the cheeseburger his brother was picking up with bruised and scraped hands.

Dean's knuckles were skinned and raw looking. There was also a red mark on his brother's jaw. "What happened?" he asked, gesturing to Dean's knuckles.

His brother washed a bite of burger down with a swallow of soda. "Funny you should ask. I ran into some old acquaintances of yours. Incredible hulks with a paint job if you ask me. They apologized for messing with your drink. One of them had a hard on for the delicious Brandy. Never go for girls who are named after drinks. Trust me on this one. That was your first mistake."

Sam shook his head while trying to connect the dots. And then it clicked – Dean had figured out who had drugged him and had 'talked' to them. He knew there was more to the story but the main point was Dean had solved the problem.

Dean was always stepping in and solving his problems. He had been doing it as long as Sam could remember. Ever since Sam was born.

Dean could have let the police handle things but that wasn't his style. He didn't want to condone the violence Dean had obviously visited on the Neanderthals at the bar but in some twisted way, it made him feel good. His brother was always looking after him. It made him feel special. Loved.

But it bothered him because he never really had the chance to repay his brother.

He looked at Dean's scrapes and then looked him in the eye. Getting even with the blockheads who had drugged him was just one in a long line of instances where Dean had his back. "Hey Dean, I…"

His brother narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "What?"

His brother managed to infuse a wealth of meaning in that one word. Don't finish that sentence…don't turn this into a moment…let it go.

But Sam couldn't let it go. And he knew if push came to shove, he would return the favor by doing the only thing he knew to keep his brother safe. He'd leave.

If he wanted to break out of victim mode and go on the offensive then this would accomplish it.

He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but if he was at all tempted toward the dark side then he would disappear if it meant keeping Dean safe.

Under Dean's steady stare he finally responded. "Nothing. I was just wondering if that burger tastes as good as it smells."

He would do his best to pretend nothing had changed since Dean had revealed their dad's final words to him, including swallowing back his gratitude. But he vowed to protect his brother at all costs.

Big brothers hadn't cornered the market on that just yet.

Finis

-----

A/N 2: So here's the prompt in all its glory -- Post-Croatoan/Hunted (since they occur together). Sam doesn't get sick in Croatoan, but what if he comes down with something soon after the boys are reunited in Hunted? What doubts does this raise in Dean's mind? In Sam's? The severity and nature of Sam's illness are totally open to the writer. Bonus points if it deals with Dean's anxiety of Sam leaving and Sam's anxiety over staying with Dean.

I hope I did this prompt justice! Thanks for reading.


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